


Fragments Shored Against My Ruin

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's miracles, Aziraphale's past, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Angst, Praise Kink, Serpent Crowley, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Crowley has decided to have another longish nap. Aziraphale wants a little time with him first.





	Fragments Shored Against My Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> The title refers to a line from a TS Eliot poem called The Waste Land.

Crowley had been expecting to have to poke about for Aziraphale in the back of the shop, or at least call for him persistently enough to drag him out of whatever first edition he was up to his nose in that morning. But wonder of wonders, Aziraphale was actually behind the counter when Crowley entered the shop, peering through his spectacles at the crossword spread out in front of him and absently sucking on the end of his pen. 

Aziraphale looked up at the bell tinkling that heralded Crowley’s entrance and smiled, “Hello my dear. I wondered if I’d see you today.” He pocketed his pen and spectacles and folded up the crossword.

That was perhaps surprising because Crowley had not been by in weeks and hadn’t really planned to turn up that day. He’d slid into the Bentley with the idea of going for a drive, and the Bentley in its wisdom, evidently had decided he’d best go and see Aziraphale. 

Crowley approached the counter without a word and when he reached it, he leaned onto it, pillowing his head on his arms with a heavy sigh.

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale’s soft hand went into Crowley’s hair with such a knowing tenderness that it brought a lump to Crowley’s throat. 

Crowley coughed, then on a sudden whim, shifted into his serpent form and slithered up Aziraphale’s outstretched arm to lie about his shoulders like a very heavy feather boa. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, petting Crowley’s flat head and waving his other hand to lock the shop door, “Every little thing all right, my dear?” 

Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s cheek with the tip of his tail for a bit before answering, “Tired.” It wasn’t the precise and entire truth, but it’d do in a pinch. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “Understandable.” He hefted Crowley just a bit to shift his position, then drifted into the back of the shop to put the kettle on. 

Aziraphale set two teacups on the coffee table and took a seat in his armchair. Once they were seated, Crowley lowered himself into Aziraphale’s lap. 

“I’ve missed you, my dear,” said Aziraphale with a little sigh. 

Crowley stretched out his tail to catch hold of the handle of one of Aziraphale’s teacups and brought it carefully to his face. Aziraphale steadied the cup with one finger, and Crowley pushed his snoot into it and lapped at the tea with his forked tongue. He didn’t actually get much tea into his mouth, as snake tongues are not at all adapted for lapping. The whole performance was driven by the fact that Crowley firmly believed that a snake drinking tea is funny. Tragically, he has never been able to enjoy the sight, being the only snake he knows. 

It didn’t much make him feel better this time. He wobbled a little tea onto Aziraphale’s trouser knee. 

“Ssshit,” he looked up at Aziraphale. “Ssssorry Angel. D’y’mind?” 

“Not to worry, my dear b-er serpent,” Aziraphale replaced the cup on the coffee table and waved the tea splash stains out of existence. 

“I’m not a boy any more than I am a ssserpent,” Crowley reminded him. 

“Not to worry, my dear,” said Aziraphale with a smile in his voice. 

Crowley looped around Aziraphale’s wrist and watched him sip tea in silence for a bit, “You really missssss me when we’re apart?” 

Aziraphale stroked the scaly coils looped round his wrist as if in demonstration, “How could I not?”

Crowley knew he was absolutely not meant to answer that, but he couldn’t help gloomily pondering the answer, “I’m thinking of having a bit of a sleep.” 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale pressed his lips together and glanced away. Crowley knew he was swallowing disappointment, possibly irritation. “How long do you think?”

Crowley tried to shrug and it was remarkably successful despite his lack of shoulders, “Few monthsss maybe. The rest of the sssummer. I’ll probably be up in. October?” 

Crowley felt Aziraphale relax a bit under him. Comparatively speaking, a handful of months is not a long time. Certainly nothing to most of a century. But it can feel a long time to be essentially alone in the world. Particularly by contrast. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. There wasn’t much more to be said. 

“Think you could pop by now and again and water my plantsss for me?” Crowley suggested after a bit. 

“Certainly,” said Aziraphale quietly. 

“Thankssss Angel,” Crowley shifted back into his human form, catching Aziraphale round the neck to avoid tumbling off his lap onto the floor. He expected a gentle scolding about providing warning before changing forms when they were so close together, but the scolding didn’t come. 

Aziraphale slipped an arm about Crowley’s waist and kissed him. “I do miss you when you’re not with me, Crowley,” he said almost apologetically. “Even just now. It seems it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you much.” 

Crowley nodded and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder so that Aziraphale couldn’t look quite at him, “Sorry.” 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Aziraphale petted his back. “What I’m getting at is. Do you. Would you have an outing with me before you go? Spend a little time together? Shore me up a bit?” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Crowley considered. He’d rather not let go of Aziraphale at present, “Now?” 

“Not now,” said Aziraphale wisely, his hand wandering into Crowley’s hair again. Relieved, Crowley shut his eyes and tightened his arms around Aziraphale. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

…

“No, thank you,” said Aziraphale firmly to the waiter who tried to hand him a wine list. 

“No?” Crowley looked at him over the tops of his shades. 

“No, not today, dear. I think not.” 

“Oh.” Crowley considered that, “Two elderflower cordials, please. Plenty of ice.” 

“Instantly sir,” murmured the waiter and vanished. 

Crowley raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale expectantly, "Not in the mood for a drink, Angel?" 

“You’ll sleep better,” said Aziraphale, already unfolding the menu. “Ooh they’re doing that lovely lemony thing with the scallops you’re so fond of.”

Crowley smiled, “We had that when-”

“I remember,” Aziraphale raised fond eyes to Crowley’s face, and they were silently soppy for a time. “Let’s decide now if we’re interested in the crepes suzette before the waiter comes back. It takes ages to prepare, so we’ll want to put it in with our starter.”

“That all depends. What are we up to after lunch?” Crowley stretched a leg out under the table til his foot bumped Aziraphale’s. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Aziraphale rubbed his ankle against Crowley’s enthusiastically, “I thought we might take a wander through the British Museum? Or we could just as well go for a stroll in the park. I’m mainly interested in the company, to be frank. Only I thought it'd be nice and cool in the museum.” 

“The company,” Crowley bit his smile as their cordials arrived in time for a toast. “Yes.” 

…

“Oh no, let’s not go that way,” said Aziraphale in a very particular tone with a little tug at Crowley’s hand.

“Why not?” Crowley wiggled free and turned to catch sight of the sign Aziraphale had wheeled away from so sharply. He grinned impishly, “Don’t you want to see their temporary exhibit on ‘The History and Iconography of Angels’?” 

“It’s so embarrassing!” Aziraphale had gone charmingly pink about the ears, and Crowley enjoyed the urge to reach out and stroke an earlobe to see if it’d be warm. 

“Oh, it’s more about them than you anyway. It’ll be fun,” Crowley wheedled. “They don’t know hardly anything real about us. Good for a laugh, don’t you think?”

“Fine, if you say so.”

Crowley smiled and caught Aziraphale’s hand again, “So gracious. Such divine virtue.”

“Oh shush. You have me shamelessly wrapped round your little finger.” But he kissed the back of Crowley’s hand and allowed himself to be led into the exhibit. 

Crowley expressed loudly outsized admiration at each angel they came to and made a meal of reading the placard beside every display. The depictions of the angels swung between sentimental and rather gruesome, and it filled Crowley with fondness both for humans and for Aziraphale. 

“Very silly,” Aziraphale muttered, glaring at statue of Gabriel that managed to be even more handsome and muscular and affectedly noble than Gabriel appeared in the flesh. 

“But don’t we like sil-” they had come to the last display in the exhibit and Crowley trailed off staring at it. “Angel, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” 

“Oh dear. I was afraid of this,” Aziraphale rubbed his arm uneasily. “You aren’t going to laugh, are you?”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a reproachful look and began to read aloud the card next to the astounding artwork, 

“‘ _ The Legend of the Christmas Tree Angel. Previously thought to represent the role of the angel Gabriel in the story of the annunciation to the shepherds, the symbolism of the traditional angel atop a Christmas tree is called into question by newly discovered accounts and art recovered from the ruins of a 15th century convent kept by an order of nuns known as The Sisters of St. Katherine.  _

_ “‘The accounts tell the story of an orphan ward of the sisters lost in the great forest surrounding the convent in the heart of a bitter winter. After a day and a night of unsuccessful searching, storm clouds gathered in the sky, and the sisters despaired of finding the child alive again. As the legend goes, when the snow began to fall, the sisters saw a strange light shining over the forest. When they followed the light, they found the child in a clearing in the forest, weak with hunger and cold, but shielded from the falling snow by the outstretched wings of an angel hovering over the child at treetop height. The witnesses insist that the angel emitted a bright light, similar to starlight, and when the sisters reached the child, the angel vanished without a trace.  _

_ “‘The newly discovered firsthand retellings of this event are noteworthy for the consistency of the details across the different writers and even the artwork created by the nuns depicting the event bear up the descriptions of a stout, golden-haired man in rich but contemporary dress, almost ordinary but for his huge, ethereal wings and what they described as celestial light shining from him…’ _ ” 

Crowley turned to gape at Aziraphale, then looked back at the little collection of drawings and paintings, “Well!” 

Aziraphale was blushing scarlet, “They were looking in entirely the wrong direction, and it was  _ cold _ out. I had to do  _ something _ . I tried to bring the girl back myself, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.” 

Crowley bounced an eyebrow, “These are fair likenesses. Do you think they’d give me one, if I asked really nicely?” 

Aziraphale sighed through his nose, “Crowley.”

“I think that one’s my favourite,” Crowley pointed to the largest portrait, only a little larger than a sheet of A4 and rather faded but unmistakably depicting Aziraphale's brilliant eyes and earnest tenderness. The angle of his wings wasn't quite right, but they looked very striking and noble against the inky sky. “Look how sweet your expression is. I wish you’d look at  _ me _ like that.” 

“Maybe if you didn’t tease me constantly,” Aziraphale folded his arms. 

“I should have a portrait of you commissioned; how've I not thought of this before. Your face is perfect for it! Is it teasing if I say I can’t believe I’ve taken up with  _ the _ Christmas angel? You’re famous! I’m a bit star-struck, actually. ” 

“Yes, it is teasing!” Aziraphale glared. “And it hadn’t anything to do with Christmas. I can’t imagine where that came in. It wasn’t the heart of a bitter winter; it was October! Still cold out, though. Poor little dear.” 

“What were you even doing near a convent anyway? Oh books. Dnno what I was thinking, asking that.” 

“Yes, books,” Aziraphale carried on glaring. “And after that, I had to turn around and go home empty-handed; they’d all seen me!” 

“You don’t forget a sight like that,” Crowley gazed at the picture he’d described as his favourite. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand, which had slipped away from him in the excitement and pressed it, “It’s a lovely miracle, Angel. Really it is. I wasn’t making fun. It’s the sort of thing miracles are meant for.” He kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. 

Aziraphale smiled under the kiss, “It’s luxuriously roomy, that form is. Always nice to stretch one’s wings. I miss that.” 

Crowley kissed him again, “So do I.” 

...

  
  


After a fruitful visit to the museum shop--Crowley bought a print of one of the paintings of Aziraphale and Aziraphale bought a replica of a snake bracelet he’d always wanted when he lived in Rome--they wordlessly agreed that it was time to deliver Crowley home. 

Crowley knew as he opened the front door that he was not ready to part from Aziraphale yet, and Aziraphale seemed to concur that it was premature. He followed Crowley upstairs without even asking if he should. 

“Putting me to bed, Angel?” Crowley asked hopefully when he’d shut the door behind them. 

Aziraphale folded his hands demurely in front of him, “If you’ll let me, dearest.” 

“I’d love it.” 

Crowley had recently taken to sleeping on his sofa when he did sleep, so he hadn’t been in his bedroom in a long while. He was sure it was full of dust and cobwebs, but he clicked his fingers behind his back to set the room in order. When he led Aziraphale into it, it was cool and clean and soothingly dim with fresh linens on the bed, but there was a staleness in the air that Crowley hadn’t managed to miracle away. 

Aziraphale turned back the blankets, and Crowley clicked his fingers to vanish his clothes and climbed into bed in his underwear, which had not been there before he clicked. He took off his shades and put them on the night table. 

Aziraphale sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets up to Crowley’s chin, “Sleep well, dearest. What would you like to do when you wake?”

“Hadn’t thought, really.” Crowley yawned and shut his eyes and waited for Aziraphale to stroke his hair before he continued, “Demolish a bowl of cornflakes first off, I think.”

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley couldn’t see with his eyes shut, but he could hear the smile in his angel’s voice, “That’s an excellent start, my dear.”

“And then I reckon I’ll ring you up and see what you're up to,” Crowley stretched a hand out of the blankets to find Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale met his searching fingers with his own. 

“Lovely,” said Aziraphale quietly. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“We should find somewhere we can fly. Don’t you think?” Crowley opened his eyes. “Some remote place, where we can fly and not worry about being seen. Top of a mountain or something. I miss my wings. I miss yours too, Angel. You shielded  _ me _ with your wings also. When we met. Do you remember?” 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, “Of course I remember, my love.” 

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face, “Have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all, my dear. Why should you think so?” 

Crowley traced the stress line between Aziraphale’s eyebrows with his thumb, “You look a bit. Sad. Maybe it’s only nostalgia.”

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand and kissed it, “I was only thinking I’ll be very dull without you.”

Crowley toyed with the snake bracelet on Aziraphale’s wrist, “I’m a little.” He shrugged. “I’m rather nervous to see you off, actually. I don’t know why.” 

Aziraphale didn’t answer, which made Crowley suspect he was probably sitting on some accurate surmises. 

Crowley made himself look at Aziraphale as if he weren’t afraid to ask, “Would you. Will you stay? Come in with me? Not the whole time, just. Til I’ve fallen asleep?” 

In answer, Aziraphale stood up and began to undress. He hung his clothes neatly over the bedpost and got into the bed on the right side. Crowley turned onto his side and leaned backward toward Aziraphale. Aziraphale had recently become quite good at taking hints. He wrapped an arm about Crowley’s waist to draw him closer. 

Crowley tilted his head back to invite and receive kisses along his jaw, “Erm. Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s answering murmur in his ear made him shiver, “Yes, my love?” 

“Would you mind terribly if I were a bit. Fickle? And suggested a. Digression?” 

“A digression, darling?” said Aziraphale innocently, drawing light fingernails up Crowley’s chest. 

Crowley pressed his lips together, feeling strongly that it was too soon to whimper, “It’s been a long time.” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale and turned him onto his back. “May I put you where I can look at you, dearest?” Aziraphale sat up and adjusted his position to face Crowley. 

“I think you just have,” Crowley opened his knees. “Now all that’s left is the fucking part.” 

Aziraphale burst into giggles, “That is not much of a compliment to me, dearest. I hope I have a  _ bit _ more finesse than that.” 

“Well you do, but I’m saying there’s no need to. At the moment.” 

Aziraphale bent and kissed Crowley just below his navel, “But you can indulge me a little, can’t you?”

Crowley turned his head briefly into his pillow, still feeling it was too early for whimpering, “Well. All right. Yeah, lavish me with attention, if you really must. I could see my way to enjoying that.” 

“You’re so good to me,” said Aziraphale sincerely. 

Crowley blushed. 

Aziraphale tickled Crowley’s hip and plucked at the waistband of his underwear, “I don’t think we need these, do we.”

Crowley clicked his fingers, and they vanished. 

Aziraphale smiled and shook his head, “You will leave me with something to do, won’t you, Crowley?”

“Are you getting bored?” 

“Shush,” said Aziraphale and leaned down to kiss Crowley. His first kiss landed on the tip of Crowley’s nose, “You won’t shush, though, will you? I hope not. In fact, you could be much less shushed than you are. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He kissed Crowley’s chin, sucked at his bottom lip. 

“Gnllfnk,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale smiled, “Exactly.” He kissed Crowley with warm languor. Lazy, wet, messy kisses. All day sort of kisses. But his hand on Crowley’s hip betrayed his excitement with hungry squeezes. Aziraphale trailed those languid kisses down Crowley’s torso, then licked the flushing head of his erection. 

Crowley whimpered. 

Aziraphale looked up, “Good?”

Crowley nodded. 

“Good.” Aziraphale rose up on his knees, and under his encouragement, Crowley braced one foot against Aziraphale’s thigh and one against his shoulder. Aziraphale made a little swirling motion in the air with his right hand, and Crowley could see that his fingers were shining and slippery. 

Crowley couldn’t help waggling side to side in anticipation, but he hid his face under the crook of his elbow. 

Nonetheless he could hear gentle amusement in Aziraphale’s voice, “Still good, my love?”

“Yes! Hurry up!”

Aziraphale laughed so fondly that it made Crowley rather want to scream, but he groaned instead when Aziraphale pressed one slick finger inside him. 

“Good,” grunted Crowley pre-emptively. 

“More?” offered Aziraphale in a whisper. 

“Yes!” Crowley hissed, stamping the foot braced on Aziraphale’s thigh and wobbling off it. 

Aziraphale added another finger, “Give me your hand, dearest.” Crowley stretched out a hand, and Aziraphale bent and licked it across the palm, sucked briefly each finger. “Touch yourself, darling,” Aziraphale curled the fingers inside Crowley, and Crowley obeyed with a shudder, stroking himself and leaving his face naked when he did. 

Aziraphale sighed, “How lovely you are, Crowley. I love to look at you.” He bent and kissed Crowley’s knee, “Are you ready, my dearest? May I?” 

Crowley nodded til he was dizzy, and Aziraphale eased him a little closer and pressed slowly into him. 

Crowley squirmed and moaned and let go of himself to reach for Aziraphale. The delight of having and the ache of longing were both swelling inside him, and he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, but he knew the tears were inexorably coming. When they spilled hot over his cheek, Aziraphale cupped his face in soft hands, stroked the tears with his thumb, as though they were something precious and exquisite. 

“Are you all right, my love?” 

Crowley nodded, eyes shut, “Closer than I thought. Don’t stop. 'M fine; it's good.” He craned upward for a kiss like a plant toward the sun.

Aziraphale kissed him, rocked into him with firm, rolling thrusts. “Gorgeous,” he breathed between kisses. “You are close, aren’t you? Oh Crowley, I can feel you trembling. Oh, beautiful. I have you, yes I have you, dearest. Oh yes, mmmmm…”

Crowley’s world had contracted down to the caress of Aziraphale’s voice, to the delicious warmth of the limbs about him and under him. Crowley rocked his hips to meet Aziraphale’s thrusts and shivered under Aziraphale’s answering moans. He could feel a quiver in Aziraphale’s belly against his and in Aziraphale’s thighs under him, and he wanted to chase after that little flutter, catch it up and hold it in his arms. His eyes tingled, and he rocked hard and came with a jolt and a shout. 

Aziraphale was just behind Crowley. He trembled like a leaf in a wind through his orgasm, muffling his groan in Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley hugged him through it, stroked his hair, the sweat slick of his back. 

“Don’t pull out,” said Crowley when he could speak again. 

Aziraphale tried to kiss him but only bumped their jaws together. Crowley privately agreed that it was near enough for the moment. “Going to have to at some point, dearest.” 

Crowley pretended not to hear and scratched Aziraphale’s favourite spot between his shoulder blades. 

Aziraphale sighed and murmured something that sounded like  _ spoiled rotten _ . 

Crowley laughed into Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Got you wrapped around my-”

“Yes?” interrupted Aziraphale, beginning to withdraw. “ _ I’m _ wrapped around your what? Do tell.” 

“Gllgnk,” said Crowley, shaking off a very tardy aftershock with a little kick to the mattress. “No punning while you’re inside me.” 

“I’m not,” said Aziraphale when he wasn’t. “Anyway that wasn’t a pun.” He miracled a handkerchief and dabbed Crowley’s face with it. 

Crowley hummed blissfully, “That feels lovely, Aziraphale.”

“Spoiled rotten,” said Aziraphale distinctly but very, very fondly. 

…

  
  


“I don’t think I can do it, Angel,” Crowley told his pillow. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder. “What’s that?” 

“Sleep the whole summer away,” explained Crowley. “I take my eye off you for two seconds and you’re off. Shielding orphans and learning French country dances so you can kiss everyone in the room and getting locked up in the Bastille.” He paused and continued quietly but more honestly, “You do mad and beautiful things at the drop of a hat, and I want to. See. I want to know all about it. I want to be with you.” 

“I want that, too.” Aziraphale hugged Crowley thoughtfully and petted his chest, “It’s all right for you to rest when you need to rest, my dear. And there will be plenty of mad and beautiful things for us both when you wake up.”

Crowley shut his eyes to drink in the musical friction of Aziraphale’s hand on his chest. 

“What if.” He drew a long breath and opened his eyes, “What if I wake up, and I’m still. It’s still too much?” 

Aziraphale pressed his cheek to Crowley’s, “I find it helps to think of the sadness as a wave and not a prison. And if it’s still too much, you'll come to me. And we'll share it. Yes?” 

Crowley nodded and hugged his pillow because Aziraphale was behind him. 

Aziraphale kissed his hair, “Rest now, my love, my brave darling boy. It’s all right to rest now. I have you.” 

So Crowley leaned back into Aziraphale’s arms and fell asleep. 

...

Crowley woke to the whisper of fabric. There was a warm shaft of golden light falling over his bed and a breeze stirring the curtains at his bedroom window. Aziraphale must have opened it. Below in the street, there were the sounds of lazy, Sunday morning traffic. Crowley sat up, smoothing his bedhead, and Aziraphale appeared in his bedroom doorway with a cup of tea as if summoned. 

“There you are, Crowley, dear. Good morning, my heart.”

Crowley smiled, “Good morning, Aziraphale.”


End file.
